Matthew McConaughey must die

My last blog missed a trick. I briefly touched on the subject of Matthew McConaughey, and the grisly death he deserves. But I didn’t fully explore it, and there’s such a lot of potential.

I hate him. It’s a full-fat, high-tar, unleaded hatred, and it’s an unalloyed delight to me. I bask in it. It soothes me, and warms me, and nourishes me. I could go a week without food and water, living purely on the energy generated by the revulsion I feel for him. I can think of no greater insult than this: he’s the male Kate Hudson.

So I’ve made a list of my favourite grisly (yet strangely hilarious) accidents to befall McCanaughey.

Shoot him. Let’s start simple. You might think this is slightly too simple, but let me elaborate: I don’t want to shoot him in the chest, or the neck, or even the knees. No, I want to shoot him in the teeth. That would bring me the most joy, and not a jury in the world would convict me

If you’ve ever pruned the roses, you’ll know how satisfying a good pair of secateurs is. Picture his nose. Picture secateurs. I’ll let you fill in the blanks.

He’s the proud owner of that special sub-mullet that only a certain type of California beach-cock can get away with – or thinks they can get away with! I doubt he’s familiar with my local Arndale Centre, so imagine the surprised delight I’d get from watching his flowing locks become entwined in the workings of the escalator. Oh no, what a calamity, I can’t reach the emergency stop button. Oh no. Oh (ha ha ha) no.

I’d like to lock him in one of those big laundry machines they use for king-sized duvets. Nothing too small. I don’t want it to be too cramped. After all, he’ll be trapped in there with at least 12 angry weasels.

It’s a fair bet that he’s the kind of man who gets his crack and sack waxed. I’d love to turn on the news and see a report about a freak accident involving somebody (me? prove it!) exchanging the wax for an industrial strength super-polymer, and as a result poor Matty gets his scrotum tragically torn off by an underpaid Chinese beautician.

Sucked slowly inside out by an industrial milking machine. The watching cows would feign ignorance, but we know better. Unguents hate him too.

Good old Matt is an avid ecology fan, and decides to spend a week in the Yellowstone, communing with nature. While there he is subject to a terrible bear attack. No, not killed and eaten: that would certainly get the job done, but not be sufficiently humiliating. It would be better if he’s the first man to experience and survive being ass-raped by a grisly. Yes, let that happen.

I haven’t worked out the circumstances that would bring this about, but he should have his elbows smashed with mallets, and be forced to Riverdance in a tray of sick until he passes out.

A wasp under his foreskin.

Be made to watch his own movies. It’s agony for me, I don’t see why he should be spared them!